Strip Club: The Whole Story
by Xenitha
Summary: Sequel to Strip Club-picks up where the first story ends. Scott's first adventure with a little strip club in California that landed him on the pages of the tabloids. Rated for mild adult situations, lots of innuendo and to make sure that the system picks it up system is excluding M-rated stories but otherwise harmless.
1. Chapter 1

The flight home was long. And quiet. Of course, all three Tracy brothers, Gordon, Virgil and Scott, were thoroughly coated with vegetable oil with faces covered with five o'clock shadow. Of the three, Scott had the worst hangover of his life, compounded by embarrassment at hitting the morning tabloids. Only John, not a party to last night's debacle, was even remotely cheerful, or maybe Gordon, who was happy in the memory of a great bar fight.

John, of course, was enjoying the rare one-upmanship bestowed on him by having bested three of his brothers in the cleanliness sweepstakes without having to do anything at all. Worse yet, one of the defiled brothers was his big brother, long known for riding herd on the younger ones, the shining example, possessor of wisdom, giver of smug little pep talks… And the fact that Dad had broken down and told John that this was Scott's second time getting caught in the tabloids…..Scott just pulled his head in like a turtle and cringed at the injustice of it all.

Virgil just sat in his seat, clad only in boxers, still wrapped in the blanket he'd been given in jail. When the guards saw its condition, they had let him keep it but added the cost to his bail. Virg still looked greasy, pensive and vaguely embarrassed. Scott knew, oh how he knew, that the embarrassment would soon ripen into shame when the tabloids came out and Dad saw them. He remembered what that had been like.

He'd been new in the Air Force, his first posting was at Travis in California. As soon as he arrived, he knew he wasn't in Kansas anymore. His new, older, buddies had decided to take this farm boy under their collective wing and introduce him to the bright lights of the big city. Of course, all of Scott's explanations that he'd lived in England while he attended Oxford and had had a very active social life thanks, went past them. They just laughed at the egghead college kid and offered to show him how a real man entertains himself. They even doubted him when he told them he decidedly wasn't a virgin.

He had found himself in the Centerfolds Strip Club, picked by his buddies as the best place for beer, pretty women and general chaos. As soon as the hostess had scanned his ID, her eyes began to gleam. He realized then that she knew something about him that he hadn't told his buddies and had nothing to do with virginity. His Dad was loaded and Scott had unlimited credit. She quickly moved their group into the VIP area of the club. He could see her giving the high sign to the various girls in the room and he felt like chum in the water. And the sharks were headed straight for him.

Once they were seated, the waitress arrived for drink orders. Scott's order for a beer was quickly countermanded. "Oh no! Not beer. You need something better than that," insisted Hennessey. "The kid'll have a Retro Rocket, full strength, no ice."

Scott gulped. He'd promised his Dad, no heavy drinking and he also knew that he could get into trouble with his superiors if he did anything unbecoming to an officer. "Thanks, guys but I'll have a beer," Scott insisted to the waitress, handing her his credit card. "And this round's on me."

Hennessey laughed loudly. "All right, but if you're paying, I'll have a whiskey sour. No way am I drinking beer if someone else is paying, RichKid!"

Four rounds later it looked like Scott was going to be the designated driver. He'd been quietly sipping his beer while his buddies got plastered. A gorgeous brunette sauntered over and introduced herself in a throaty voice. "Hi, I'm Mandy."

Slater pulled some money out of his pocket and waved her over. "Mandy, this is RichKid's first visit to a strip club and we suspect him of being a virgin! Why don't you show him all you got!"

"Hey, wait a minute," Scott began with a blush but it was too late. Mandy had a wad of cash in her hand and fire in her eye. The next thing he knew, he was being give the lap dance of his, thus far, limited life. His buddies caught the embarrassed look on his face and started hooting with derision. Scott didn't know where to look. He'd been raised as a gentleman and, while the lady was beautiful, all he felt right now was chagrined. Well, two could play this game. He dug a couple hundreds out of his pocket and gave them to Mandy.

"Thanks, Mandy," he choked out, pulling his jacket to cover his lap after she moved away from him. "That was great," he said, handing her the money. Mandy's eyes sparkled with humor as she leaned in and gave him a long kiss.

"Glad to oblige," she said softly.

He never was sure afterwards how he managed to pour his buddies back into the car and get them back to base, but they all made it safely.

Two weeks later, Scott had to run an errand in Sacramento. Grandma's sewing machine was a Meissner and she'd heard that the factory was located in Sacramento. She'd asked him to pick up a part for her along with a packet of needles from the factory. Knowing that she'd get the part much faster if he ran the errand, he told her he'd do the job gladly.

When he parked the car, he knew he was in the right place. The factory had a giant, two-story sewing machine needle set up next to the front door. He blinked then shrugged and made his way in. The clerk was efficient and quickly found his order. Making his way to the car, he saw a beautiful young woman in stiletto heels standing next to a blue sports car, looking mournfully at the flat tire.

"Having trouble?" Scott asked.

She turned her sparkling green eyes on him then smiled. "Oh. I remember you!"

Seeing her in full daylight, she was even more gorgeous. "Uh...Mandy, was it?" he asked, suddenly feeling warm.

"Yes," she replied. "My car has a flat and the auto club can't make it for an hour. I'm sort of stuck here."

"If you've got a spare, I'll change it for you," Scott said, rolling up his sleeves.

"I'd never turn you down," she replied, giving him the eye. Clearly she thought he looked better by daylight too.

He had the tire changed in ten minutes and their first date was set for the following evening on her night off.

Unfortunately, her night off happened to be a Wednesday, so Scott's plan to sweep her away to San Francisco was not going to work. Fortunately, he discovered that Sacramento had some nice restaurants and quickly made reservations for two aboard a rebuilt Mississippi river boat turned hotel and restaurant, the Delta King.

Admiring all the old trees and majestic houses, he picked her up at her modest apartment in an old Victorian in Mid-Town. Her green eyes sparkled when she saw him, then brightened even more when she saw the car, his prized Maserati. They drove, with difficulty, over the original cobblestones of the Old Sacramento dock where the Delta King was a permanent fixture. Wondering briefly whether the alignment of his Maserati was going to suffer, he handed the car key to the valet and helped Mandy out of the car.

Their table was in a quiet corner, overlooking the river. Admiring the lights, Scott smiled at his date. "So, would you like some champagne?"

"I wouldn't say no," Mandy smiled back. "Do you always drive a Maserati?"

"If I didn't have it with me, my youngest brother would try to drive it and it would be a pile of parts when I got home next," Scott admitted. "Usually, I drive a Mazda for day to day use."

"So," she said. "You're one of those Tracys, aren't you? I think I've seen you in People Magazine. Bachelor of the year, weren't you? Before the Air Force haircut."

Scott felt himself blushing. You'd think he'd be used to Dad's status as one of the richest billionaires on the planet. "Dad didn't make it big in business until I was eighteen, so I'm used to a pretty ordinary life," he admitted, toying with his champagne flute. "I mean, we all went to public schools in Kansas while Dad was in the service. Sure, he was an astronaut, but so was the father of every family we socialized with. It was just Dad's job." He smiled. "And he had a lot of business trips to exotic locales." He took a sip. "And how about you? I was picking up some sewing machine parts for my grandmother at the Meissner store. What were you doing there?"

"What? You think a lap dancer doesn't sew?" Mandy asked archly. "In point of fact, I'm a full time college student at Sac State going for my business degree. Working at the bar pays well and is putting me through college. Ultimately, I want to own my own business." She tasted her champagne. "I was there to get a new machine. I make my own clothing and have a costume business on the side. I sew mostly for friends who are belly dancers."

Scott leaned back, blue eyes dancing. "Belly dancers? And do you dance too?"

"You should catch me at the Renaissance fair some day," she shot back. "Scott," she sighed. "Why did you ask me out, really? You must know that I'm not a call girl."

"I didn't think you were," Scott replied. "But I also know you aren't some boring society girl anxious to make a 'good' marriage either. When I changed your tire, I thought you might be someone I'd enjoy spending time with. Are you willing to put up with me even if I am one of those Tracys?"

She studied him at length, then said," Okay. As long as you leave the Maserati home next time. And the next date is on me."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Scott found himself back on the sidewalk, saying good night before he realized it. Okay, he respected a girl who didn't go to bed with a guy on the first date. If only she weren't so good looking and it hadn't been so long since...well, okay. He resolved to keep his mind on business and went back to his (economy) car turning back toward the base.

TRACY ONE

Scott felt something poking him in his jeans pocket. He slid his hand inside and found a business card, the one with Mandy's phone number on it. His expression went from glum to hopeful. Maybe, just maybe he could come back and see her, preferably when he was not trailing his brothers...

The jet started to jitter a bit, then continued bumping and rolling. He hit the intercom button. "Hey John, what are you doing up there? Barrel rolls?"

John's voice, set for its snarkiest, came back. "It's just a little choppy air. What's wrong, Scott? Hangover bothering you?"

Scott cast a glance at Virgil whose face had taken on a decidedly greenish cast. "I'm not the one you have to worry about, John. You remember childhood car trips and why Virg never sat in the middle?"

He heard John's muffled "ulp", then his reply. "I'll climb us above the weather. Make sure Virg has a barf bag, Scott. I do not want to be the one that has to clean the upholstery after the last time."

"Scott..." said Virgil in a wobbly voice. "I don't feel so good."

Both Gordon and Scott exchanged glances before diving for the air sickness bags. Virgil grabbed Scott's first and began to use it vigorously. Gordon unbuckled himself and helped Virg to the bathroom, leaving Scott the only one still sitting in the body of the jet.

Gradually the turbulence eased and he studied the card in his hand. He remembered how much fun he and Mandy had had while they were dating, before the catastrophe...

CENTERFOLDS CLUB

Scott arrived early to pick Mandy up for their second date. Since it was, as she put it, 'her' turn, he knew nothing about what she had planned. He arrived at the back door and knocked on the big "DO NOT ENTER" sign affixed to it. The door opened and on older, balding man with a pot belly came out. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and took a long drag, "Yeah? Whaddaya want?" he said.

"Uh, I'm here to pick Mandy up," Scott said. "You must be Bernie." He reached out his right hand to shake. Bernie just looked at it and Scott dropped his hand after a moment. "Um...anyway, is she ready?"

He was answered when the door behind Bernie opened and a fully dressed Mandy came down the stairs. Scott noted that she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, both of which displayed her...um...assets temptingly. Think clean thoughts. Think clean thoughts, he reminded himself.

"So, Mandy, where are we going?" Scott asked as she led him to her little blue sports car. He eyed it dubiously when she opened the passenger door for him. He was well over six feet tall and wondered if he'd be sitting with his knees to his chin. She caught his eye and laughed, moving the seat back full length.

"One of my favorite little restaurants," she replied, sliding behind the wheel and pulling the car out of the lot with a squeal of tires.

He first noticed the little gray haired man at the small Italian restaurant in Carmichael that Mandy took him to. He had to agree that Serritella's was a great place. The breadsticks were fresh, even if they were served with peanut butter. The past was great too. And the wine. He and Mandy were getting pleasantly buzzed when he noticed a short, gray-haired man at the table across the room. He was nursing a glass of wine and a plate of spaghetti, but Scott saw the camera tucked under his arm. Paparazzo? He sighed. Being his father's son made photographers inevitable, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Scott signaled the waitress and asked for a different table.

"What's wrong, Scott?" Mandy asked, looking a little bit irritated that he was high-jacking her carefully planned evening.

"There's a photographer at the other table, Mandy," Scott said, shielding his face with a hand. "I'm sorry, but they're like sharks. They never give up. When they get pictures, they make up captions to suit themselves, usually the worst whoppers you've ever heard. Would you mind moving into the other room?"

He looked to truly miserable to Mandy that she sighed. "Okay, Scott. We'll move tables." She glanced over at the little man who promptly looked away, avoiding her glance.

They finished their meal in the other room, but the romance had been spoiled. When Mandy dropped Scott off in the Centerfolds parking lot, they exchanged kisses and went their separate ways.

The next time they went out, Mandy had managed to get the weekend off, so he took her to San Francisco. At Mandy's insistence, they left the cars at home and took the monorail to the City. In the weeks since their first date, they had been texting each other and calling regularly. Scott had to admit that he was falling hard for her and had begun to wonder how he'd break this to his father. He was dating a...college student. Yeah. That was it. No, it wasn't. He sighed to himself. Dad had perfectly competent security on retainer and now that the whole family was contemplating Dad's plan to start International Rescue, concerns about publicity and secrecy had only gotten greater. He stared out the monorail window at the landscape flashing by. What would Dad say if he brought a lap-dancer back to the Island? What would Grandma say?

"Dollar for your thoughts," Mandy commented.

"Nothing," Scott smiled back. "So, what should we do first? Fisherman's Wharf or Ghirardelli Square?"

"Oh, I don't know," Mandy said, nudging closer to Scott. "How about dinner at the hotel, then a quiet evening in?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "We're going to the most exciting city on the planet and you want to...Oh." He had trouble controlling the grin that kept threatening to break out. "I think that would be nice."

Neither of them noticed the little man two rows behind them, surreptitiously snapping photos of them with his pocket camera.

SAN FRANCISCO

MARK HOPKINS HOTEL

"Top of the Mark"

Dinner at the Top of the Mark, the restaurant/cocktail lounge on the nineteenth floor was pretty good, Scott decided. Not up to Kyrano's standard, of course, but he had to admit that the company was a whole lot better than a tableful of his ever-hungry brothers. Mandy was wearing a green dress that matched her eyes and only had eyes for him. It might or might not be love, he decided, but he was confident that there was some heavy duty mutual attraction.

He was losing himself in the depths of her green eyes when he heard her chuckle. "Hmmm?" he asked.

"I said, 'earth to Scott', she replied." Wasn't that little man the photographer at the Italian restaurant? I think I saw him on the monorail too." Mandy nodded to a side table with her chin.

Scott turned to look and caught a glimpse of a short, gray haired man just before he hid his face behind a menu. Scott frowned. While he had often been trailed by paparazzi, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Yeah, he was there all right," Scott replied. "One of the problems with being one of 'those Tracys' is that we get followed by photographers a lot. I hope you don't mind showing up in a tabloid because you were my date tonight."

"That really sucks," Mandy said, then gave him an abashed look. "Sorry. My parents raised me better than to use language like that. So what do you usually do about photographers following you? Change tables again?"

"People I know in the same situation hire body guards to get rid of them, or they wear disguises or they just live paranoid lives," Scott said bitterly. "But you know, I really don't want to do that. I'm tired of seeing this guy." He picked up the bottle, still half full of a nice red wine and gave it a look of regret. "Excuse me, Mandy. I'll be right back."

He stood up, still holding the wine bottle, and made his way to the little man's table. The man held his menu up, hiding his face. Scott stood next to him patiently until the menu came back down again.

"Excuse me," Scott said politely. "My date and I are having a private evening. I thought I'd come by and ask you nicely to leave us alone."

The little man made eye contact and sneered. "Unlike some people, I have to work for a living. This is a public place and as long as you're in public, you're fair game." He grinned, showing yellowing teeth. "And photos of the famous Scott Tracy are worth a lot, especially when he's out with some sleazy call-girl."

Scott's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't mind if you insulted me, but insulting the lady is too much. I'll say this only once more. . !" And with that he upended the bottle of red wine over the little man's head and gently set the bottle on the man's table. While the paparazzo was still sputtering, Scott went back to their table. "Let's go. I know another restaurant that's more private."

Mandy watched with amusement as Scott led her past the photographer's table, missing the burning glare that the little man cast their way as they passed.

The food at the Taco Bell a couple of blocks away was less expensive but ultimately more satisfying. They spent the rest of the evening wandering through Fisherman's Wharf, but every time they turned a corner they spotted the photographer. Finally, they gave up for the night. Mandy gave Scott a lingering kiss at the door to her room but didn't invite him in.

A very frustrated Tracy made his way back to his room, glowering.

TRACY ONE

"You guys okay in there?" Scott called to the back of the jet. Not hearing an answer, he unbuckled himself and went back to check on Virgil. Poor Virg had always been prone to motion sickness. Space training alone had been almost impossible for him since none of the usual anti-nausea medications worked.

He found Virg sitting on the toilet seat while Gordon mopped him down with wet towels. He could see evidence that Gordon had also cleaned the floor around Virgil.

Scott stood over them, arms folded. "Didn't make it in time, huh?"

Virgil just looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. He was still dressed in the boxers the club had given him. For the first time Scott got a good look at them. "Are those little rockets on your shorts, Virg?" he quirked a smile.

"I don't care if they're tiny little Thunderbird Two's," Virgil answered glumly. "My head's killing me, I'm sick to my stomach and what is Dad going to say? Have you seen the morning tabloids?"

"I'm trying to avoid that, thank you," Scott said with a shiver. "I've done this once with Dad and that was more than enough. Why on earth you decided to oil wrestle is beyond me..."

Virgil just glared at him. "Scott, you're living in a glass house on that one and you know it. Does this ring any bells? 'Tracy Son Caught in Orgy'?"

Scott's face turned red. "Where did you get that? Who told you about that headline?"

"You think I didn't hear about it? The Enquirer was taped to my dorm room door when that article, AND PHOTO came out," Virgil said. "My God, Scott, you might as well have been naked. What was I supposed to do? I called Dad. He told me not to talk about it to anyone and that he was handling it. And especially not to bring it up to you! You had enough to deal with, he said."

Gordon's head was on a swivel. "You did? What did it say, Virg? What orgy? Why didn't you ever tell me anything about this?" He looked from Scott to Virgil and back again.

Both brothers glared at him before Scott took a deep breath. "Gord, don't ask, okay? You were in your bathyscaphe in the Marianas Trench. You were incommunicado and it was embarrassing enough as it was." He ran a hand over his greasy hair. "I'm sorry I blew up at you, Virg. It's not a happy memory and now we have to face Dad with this." His lips quirked. "Got to say, though, they sure had great taste in shorts for you Virg."


End file.
